


Putting on Airs

by MartinusMiraculorum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, One Shot, also lavellan's accent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartinusMiraculorum/pseuds/MartinusMiraculorum
Summary: Some things can't wait.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Sera (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Sera (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 29





	Putting on Airs

**Author's Note:**

> a re-imagined romance-initiating scene for Sera and a Female Mage Lavellan, based off of a few things I wasn't entirely satisfied with (though the canon one is a delight, don't get me wrong)

Veila sighed as she surveyed the bustling Great Hall of Skyhold. Already much of the scaffolding that had been erected to make repairs was gone, and the rubble of the collapsed roof had been long since cleared away. Candles burned brightly on finely carved wooden tables, the entire arrangement painstakingly designed and executed out by their indefatigable Ambassador. Veila might be the ostensible leader of this Inquisition, but the entire operation would surely fall to pieces without the guiding hand of Josephine Montilyet.

In truth, the very idea of managing so many important (and self-important) humans made her head spin. The Keeper had trained her for many things, but negotiating and bargaining with wealthy and powerful _shems_ had certainly not been one of them. 

Her bones still ached from the operation to seize Adamant and the aftermath, even though it had been nearly a week since she’d once more fallen out of the Fade. She had barely had the opportunity to speak with anyone but Cullen, Blackwall, and Cassandra, as her militarily-minded comrades assessed the status of the Inquisition’s army after the bloody battle in the Western Approach. Something close to a third of the forces they had committed had been lost, and many more were wounded, some badly enough that they had to be left behind to recover in Orlesian field hospitals in the shattered ruins of the fortress while the rest of the host marched home.

The scale of their victory was unquestionable, but the cost had been high.

She glanced down at her hands, but did not see the blood she surely expected to be there. As it turned out, wielding a sword nearly as tall as she was meant very little of the proverbial blood on her hands was literal. 

Dorian too had been somewhat distant during their return to Skyhold, perhaps wrestling with the knowledge that it really had been the Magisters Sidereal who had broken into the Fade, and, according to the _shemlen_ chantry, at least, brought the Blight. It was a bit unnerving to Veila to see just how close human mythology was to the reality or unreality of the Fade.

So lost in her thoughts, her first indication that she was not alone with them was when a firm hand grasped her hard enough around her aching forearm to make her wince. She looked up in surprise into a pale face and brown eyes set in a furious expression.

“Alright, that’s it - you’re coming with me.”

Veila decided against putting up a fight as she was dragged with surprising strength by the archer out of the Hall, down the castle steps, across the courtyard past a baffled Krem, still nursing his leg wound, further along in front of a bemused-looking Lace Harding, into the Herald’s Rest, up the wooden stairs, around the corner, and finally watched Sera kick in her own door and found herself shoved onto the other elf’s bed, sending a goblet and an empty wine bottle crashing to the floor along with the small table they had been resting on.

The room’s occupant did not seem to have noticed any of it.

Sera paced furiously around the tiny annex, the light of the setting sun flaring on her skin as she moved from light to dark. It put Veila in the mind of an angry halla, pacing around when its mate or foal had fallen ill and Isren, the clan’s halla keeper, wasn’t working as fast as the normally gentle beasts would like. 

Imagining how the Sera-halla’s horns would be bumping against the low ceiling, wreaking havoc among the haphazard scatter of the other elf’s possessions, she couldn’t stop the slight giggle that followed.

Naturally, that made things worse. 

“Think this is _funny,_ do you?” she demanded, hands on her hips, balled into shaking fists. “This all a joke, yeah?”

Veila tried to regain control of her treacherous face. “No, not at all. I promise, Sera. It’s just--you reminded me of something...it’s nothing, really. You wanted to tell me something?” 

The blonde elf looked torn between demanding to know what that 'something' was and wanting to get whatever it was off her chest. 

“Why do you want me?”

Veila blinked. “I--”

Sera continued, resuming her pacing. “Like, you say these words, and they’re real nice, and make me feel warm inside, and I think you’re alright. But then…”

She trailed off, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out, followed by an angry grunt and a petulant kick at the floor. 

“Then what?”

“Then you act all high and mighty. Like, fuck, you killed a man today. Just like that. That Ventori bloke, the one from the fortress.”

Earlier that day, Veila had indeed passed sentence and carried out the execution of Magister Livius Erimond on charges of corrupting the Grey Wardens of Orlais into the service of Corypheus and the attempted assasination of Veila herself. The sword had felt heavy in her hands, but she had refused to let her arms, more used to wielding a two-handed staff, shake, or show any other sign of weakness. By the end of it she was barely aware of the man’s severed head lying on the ground, sightless eyes staring up blankly in a rapidly growing pool of blood. 

“Sera, we kill people _all the time_.”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “You didn’t kill him in a fair fight--or an unfair one. You sat there on your bloody throne and told him before all those hoity-toity noble types that he was gonna die. And then you picked up that big sword--and I never seen you with a sword before, you know, ‘cept that time they made you Lady Inquisitor or whatever, and you chopped his head off. Just like that.” She crossed her arms, dark eyes flashing. “Bet you thought I wasn’t watching, didn’t you?”

In truth, Veila hadn’t noticed the other woman’s presence. Then again, she had barely registered the presence of anything but the cool throne emblazoned with the fiery eye of the Inquisition beneath her, the expectant gaze of Josephine standing attentively to her right side, just on the edge of her vision, the defiant terror of Erimond, and then the weight of the sword and the slight tug and nauseating crackle as she cut effortlessly through flesh and bone.

Finally, she shook her head. Honesty was often the best policy with Sera, even if it sometimes made things worse in the short term. Veila seemed to have a talent for saying just the wrong thing to insult or belittle the other elf, the prickly survivor of the streets of Denerim.

“I couldn’t tell you who was there, to be honest. Well, Josephine. But was Cassandra there? Varric?” she shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

Somehow Sera’s expression turned even more sour. “ _Josephine_ , huh? Miss Ruffles-No-Mercy? You remember _she_ was there, do you?”

Maybe she was imagining it, but she could have sworn she heard a note of jealousy in the other woman's voice. 

“Well, yes,” Veila replied defensively. “She was prompting me on what to do, it was hard to forget her asking me whether a man should die--or be made tranquil.” She fought a shiver. 

Unexpectedly, Sera’s expression softened. “You didn’t pick that one, though, didn’t you? If you didn’t see me, I reckon you didn’t see how surprised everybody was. Guess they thought you’d just take the easy way out, no rich tosser's blood on the floor."

Veila felt nauseated by the very thought. “I could _never_ ,” she said, her voice hard. “I would never do that, not even to Corypheus himself." She closed her eyes against the wave of revulsion. “Sera, you have _no idea_ what tranquillity means.”

The other woman frowned, suddenly uncertain. “Guess I don’t, do I?”

Veila shook her head. “I _hate_ that word. It makes it sound so--neat. _Tranquil_ things are good. I like _tranquil_ things. I like the quiet and the calm, especially in a castle where I never get either one.”

“It’s like,” Sera searched for words. “Like it kills a part of them, yeah? They are right creepy, they are. Can’t get them angry, no matter what you do.”

Despite everything, Veila felt her lips curl upwards in a smile. “And I bet you’ve tried, haven’t you?”

“Course!” Sera said, sounding almost offended. “It’s no fun though, is it?”

“No. No, I imagine it isn’t.”

As she shifted uneasily, Sera looked like she desperately wanted to ask more, and strangely, Veila hoped she would. She could never _talk_ about these things with anything except maybe Dorian, and even he tended to deflect away from the subject. Vivienne thought it was all perfectly fine, what they did to mages who hadn’t passed their ‘Harrowing,’ whatever that was, Solas was hard to reach at his most talkative, and Cassandra and Cullen--well they seemed to think it was entirely justified, if only a measure to be undertaken in direst circumstances. Even Fiona, the closest thing the human mages had to a Keeper, was unbothered by the presence of tranquill. And she thought back to that heated discussion in Haven’s Chantry with Minaeve, the Dalish-born elf who had been cast off by some terrible clan and found safety and comfort with the _shemlen_ , who said she liked being around tranquill more than anyone else. 

“Hey, you alright?”

Veila blinked. _No_ , she thought. “Fine,” she said.

“Right…” Sera said doubtfully. Then her face turned hard again. “So. Why do you want me?”

_Here we go again._

Veila sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh piss off acting like you don’t know," she said with scowl, "You’ve got a thing for me, yeah? Dunno why -- when you could have _anybody_ here, you, the bloody _Herald_ \-- would be hanging around, saying these nice things about me, getting all close and personal and playing pranks instead of fighting the friggin war. Hell, even Big Scary Cassandra looks about ready to fall over when she sees you, and I don’t think she knows she’s like that, and I know you’ve seen the looks Elfy has sent your way.” Sera stamped her foot, which was strangely adorable.”So why me, huh? Is is just because I'm an elf and you’re a clam bumper--"

"A _what_?"

Sera groaned. "You know, a lady-lover? And don't you try to distract me again! I saw you talking with that Minerve woman, you know -- and I was there in Haven, when you ran like hell to save her even though we lost that Eden--Odon--Adan guy not a spit away from her. Are you just missing her now that she’s buggered off? Is that what I am to you, a hope for a quick shag so you can forget? ‘Cause you don’t know me. You don’t.”

This was devolving quickly. “Sera, I--”

There were furious tears in the blonde elf's eyes now. “You think you know who I am, yeah? You think you have me all figured out. Well guess what, sweet cheeks, you don’t know squat, because I haven’t told you squat.”

“ _Sera!”_ Veila snapped. “If you would just _listen_ to me, by the Dread Wolf. You don’t know what you’re on about.”

Rather than raising her voice in return, Sera cocked her head. “That’s funny.”

“ _What's_ funny?” Veila hissed. 

“You sound different. Your voice went all funny.”

Veila had vaguely registered the return of the lilting consonants. She scowled, deliberately switching back to her now familiar Ferelden drawl, blended with a hint of Marcher from Clan Lavellan's time there. “Did you think I always spoke like this?” she asked. “You’ve met other Dalish before, surely. Even Minaeve still had a hint of the Dales.”

“ _That’s_ what your voice sounds like?” Sera looked stunned. “Then why are you always--”

“Because no one would take me seriously if I talked like a Dalish,” Veila explained patiently, letting her accent slip deliberately this time. “They’d look at me like some provincial fool who had no business leading the Inquisition.”

“Aye, I get that. But why do you always--”

“Because if I don’t,” she said. “I run the risk of slipping up when I can’t afford it. Besides, everybody here knows my Ferelden accent. Sometimes I speak elvhen with Solas--”

“‘Cause he’s a _real_ elf, right? Not like me. Not like some flat-ear from the slums.”

“What are you talking--”

“I saw how you looked at me when I found out the bloody ‘Herald of Andraste’ was an elf, and an elfy-elf at that. I’m no idiot. You think changing your voice makes people forget what you are? Look at your bloody face, those Valli-whatsit.”

“ _Vallaslin_ ,” Veila corrected. “They are called Vallaslin.”

“Yeah, those. You think people don’t see those? They don’t know who you are?”

“Of course they see them,” Veila explained, with more patience than she thought herself capable of. For reasons she did not want to interrogate at the moment, she didn't want to be angry with Sera, infuriating as the other woman was. “But when I talk like _this_ ,” she said, enunciating her consonants almost obnoxiously, “and I dress like _this_ ,” she gestured at her leather vest and doublet, in shades of blue and red she had never worn before she came to Skyhold, so used to the warm greens, yellows, and browns of her clan's traditional wear. “They can _forget_ that, just for a little while. That’s all I need, for them to look at me and think ‘Inquisitor’ and not 'Dalish.’” Veila frowned “What have you heard about the Dalish growing up? Do they still say we steal human children? As if we need more mouths to feed in the winter?”

“Yeah, I might’ve heard that one,” Sera said, her voice unusually subdued. “‘s nonsense, isn’t it?”

“Of _course_ it’s nonsense! _Fen’Harel take you--_ ”

“There you go again!” Sera said, stabbing a finger at her. “Feneral this and Andulll that and ‘Mittlle give me strength.’ The Maker’s enough for me, thanks.”

“They are the Gods of ou-- _my_ ancestors,” Veila said. “ _Fen’harel_ and _Andruil_ and _Mythal_. Maybe you grew up with--with _shemlen,_ but I _didn’t_. _I_ grew up in aravels, taught stories of our past by our _hahren_ , and taught magic by the Keeper. My name, _Lavellan_? That’s a clan name. It’s a name passed down from generations ago. The Chantry took everything else from us. Our names, and our stories, and our _gods_ , that’s all we have left.”

Sera looked oddly subdued. “You’ve been keeping in a lot, haven’t you?”

Veila gritted her teeth and knotted. “My _Vallaslin_ tell of my dedication to Falon'din, the God of Death."

Sera blanched. "Blimey, that's bleak."

"Depends on how you think about it. Death is a part of life, a universal experience. I was trained to be a Keeper, to look after and guide and counsel my clan. Both in this life, and the transition to the Beyond. That's Falon'din's domain, and why I chose to bear his marks when I came of age."

Sera considered this. "Makes sense - well as much as any elfy-elf nonsense does."

At some point they were likely to have a heated conversation about their competing religious views. Veila had no desire for that to be now. 

"Look, you were asking--"

"Why you wanted me, right? So what is it? Cause if it's about these," Sera tweaked her own pointed ear, "you can get off. I ain't part of your _People,_ I'm not _elfy._ I'm a Jenny, and I got arrows, and I'm _me._ If that's not enough for you, find somebody else to warm your bed." 

"That _is_ enough."

Sera appeared to have been winding up for another rant, but stopped short. "What?' 

There was a tremble in her voice Veila had never heard before. "That's why I like you, Sera."

Her expression was nothing short of thunderstruck. "You're kidding." 

"I'm not, honest. Has it occurred to you that maybe the fact that you aren't an -- an _elfy-elf_ is why I'm so drawn to you?"

Sera didn't respond, just crossed her arms and looked expectant. "Go on," she said finally. "Let's hear it, luv."

Veila sighed, but forced herself to meet the other elf's eyes. "Sera, I left my clan. It was supposed to be a simple scout, a favor to Keeper Deshanna because I've always had a talent for dealing with _shems,_ even taught myself to sound like them, because it got us better deals at the market in Wycombe. And then all _this_ happened, and I'm just starting to come to terms with the fact that I may never see them again. And you know what the worst part is, Sera? I think I can _live_ with that." 

She hadn't realized how badly she was holding everything in, and it came tearing out of her. “I grew up in a clan that was absolutely devastated by a plague just before I was sent there to become the Keeper’s new First, because the original First didn’t make it either. Nearly everyone I knew growing up was older or younger. And I knew, I _knew_ that even as Keeper I’d be expected to find a partner and have children if I was able.”

Sera scowled. “They would have made you do that? You don’t like blokes, right?”

Veila shrugged. “Some -- I don’t know. I’d never want to be bonded to one. It’s not that the clan didn’t accept my -- preferences, just that I was expected to help carry the clan on somehow.”

Veila sighed. “And that’s just it. Between how relieved I am to have left and you and Solas getting in your digs on the People I’ve realized that you’re _right_. Our Clan is isolationist and stuck in a past we’ll never recapture. It’s gone. It’s time we accepted that.”

Sera was still frowning. 

“ _What?”_ Veila demanded.

“I didn’t mean that, you know. Well, the Dalish I met act like tits and don’t give a nug’s arse about the alienages or the bloody flat-ears, but I didn’t mean to make -- you shouldn’t feel like --”

“It wasn’t you,” Veila said softly. “All you did was show me how much we had been missing. My own doubts and insecurities did the rest.”

“I still feel bad,” Sera said. 

Veila took a breath and stood up. “Don’t,” she said, laying a gentle finger on Sera’s lips.

She was trembling, and Veila could feel that she was too. Their faces were closer than they had ever been, and neither one of them seemed to want to breathe lest they shatter this moment. 

“I want you for _you_ ,” Veila said finally. “Because this life that I’ve found myself in is _ridiculous_ and scary and I need you around cracking jokes and lowering the tone and calling us on our bullshit. Reminding us there are other people out there, people that don’t get an audience with our Ambassador.”

Sera’s eyes shined, but she remained uncharacteristically silent. 

With a final leap, Veila closed the gap, and she saw stars.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly coming up with a bit of slang for 'lesbian' that Sera would say, Lavellan would be baffled by, and wasn't as far as I could determine a real-world slur was harder than I expected. 
> 
> As one who is ride or die for the Dalish, Trespasser was...interesting. I think it's fair to say my inquisitor had misgivings about the insularity of Dalish culture to start with, and listening to Sera and Solas just made her think more about how she'd been raised
> 
> also I entirely understand why the 'high' female voice for inquisitors is the same but...I had to come up with an explanation for why she sounded like literally no Dalish we'd ever seen, even when they hadn't quite figured out the welsh/irish vocal coding of the last two games.


End file.
